Red and Smoke
by gravitas-dignitas-pietas
Summary: In a rainy night they meet, excitement pumping their veins like the thunderlights outside. The smoke of her cigarrete does nothing to veil their smiles. He needs them and they are all too willing.


**Red and Smoke**

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**Warnings: **Criminal activity made kind of cool. It is not.

**AN:** Wedy and Aiber are both dear characters to me and it makes me sad they didn't play a bigger part. I don't know much about noir movies, detectives or criminals but this was inspired by Aiber and Wedy and the black-grey-red colour palette.

I advise to read it in your best slow paced deep voice to give it a real nice dark vibe.

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They're meant to bring the noir aspect to the detective drama.

They step away from the shadows at nighttime. Hushed steps in the foggy corners to the lone detective's office.

He's not what you expect. To say he's not the tall, stubbed face, long coat wearing, razor ship mind of a man is an understating. He's more of a child with a wall of screens. Paled face and wide eye in too warm clothing for the cool temperature. But the laser cut perception it's there. That he is. He knows what you're thinking before you do, he's several steps ahead of you when you're just considering making one. Advertise to solve riddles from dusk to dawn.

He's not the tall, cigar smoking mystery, but this monochromatic picture doesn't need one.

"I need of your services" In flat baritone murmurs he says. He doesn't wait for you to answer. Doesn't need to. It's not like either of you will object.

She, a long legged beauty. The cat burglar, the thief, the spy. She comes in with winged eyeliner and ruby lips, strolling through her own catwalk with bouncy golden curls. Clad in a skin tight cat suit and a knee length coat, her heels playing a staccato resounding in the four walls of the small office, veiled threats in Morse code. Her every move is liquid and poisonous, silently leaping from one top notch safety to the next without ever putting out her cigarette.

She is the best. Was. He was better. He caught her jumping from between rooftops. Twenty three stories up in the cold night air, her bags full of emeralds and rubies and sapphires, matching the tones in her eyes and lips. "Miss Kenswood" He smiled, relaxed shoulders and hands in his pockets. She was young, he was younger. She was fast, quick, quiet, but he was better.

And here she stands, blending in the walls as much as her beauty stands in a crowd. She smiles and puffs out the smoke of her long skinny cigarette, diamonds shimmering in her fingers.

He, the handsome, tall, businessman. The conman, the charming criminal, the smooth talker sociopath, the different kind of thief in a tailored Italian suit and fine leather shoes.

Merchandise, gemstones, real state, yatchs, private airplanes, stocks, banking, he has everything you want, everything you owned. He stalks quietly, from the next door mansion you didn't know was on sale, he operates on his own and gathers a crowd, a concert of lookers looking to be a part of something they do not know. He exploits the vulnerable human psyche, the dishonest, the honest, the greedy, the vane, the compassionate, the naïve, even his own kind. Silky voice and roughed hands to draw you into the scam.

He comes from a foreign land, a mystery accent in his words and promises of grandness in his leery eyes. He gets the ladies who cross their legs and perfume their bustiers, the money, the fame and none of the repercussions. By the time the red and blue lights flash through the windows of the mansion, he will be long gone. He'll disappear into the night in a cloud of expensive French cologne and golden chest hair. Leaving behind stained wine glasses and ethical bankruptcy. He needs no violence, no threats, no guns, only icy blue eyes and defined jaw.

The greedy or dishonest may attempt to out-cheat to eventually realize that they have been manipulated into losing from the beginning.

He had lost from the moment he met him. A youngster careless with his grandfather money, he crafted their interactions and transactions like a chest board, the conman conned.

Broad shoulder as he is, clad in a red velvet raincoat, in harmony with the other thief in the room, he scans his eyes to the skinny boy in front of him, taking in the bony hands and sunken cheeks.

He owns them, and he's always excited when he asks for them.

How could they ever refuse The Great L?


End file.
